


Under Starlight and Snow

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Forehead Kisses, Found Family Feelings, Just All The Best Feelings, M/M, love and acceptance, slightly fluffy, spoilers for episode 72 of campaign 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 21:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20021572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: “Fjord?” Caduceus is standing mere feet away, bundled in his dark gray coat, the staff on his crystal glowing dimly, his eyes full of concern, and Fjord realizes suddenly what he’s been waiting for all day. For so long he’s worried about what would happen if he lost his powers, if the group found out, how they would look at him with pity in their eyes. He’s imagined it so many times that he’s been waiting for it to happen still, and ithasn’t, and his brain doesn’t know what to do with itself now.





	Under Starlight and Snow

It’s a day and a half’s walk from the Kiln to Uthodurn, and while Fjord is excited to go there and potentially get the broken pieces of the old sword reforged, he finds himself grateful for the time spent traveling, his steps unhurried as he walks alongside the others. He has Jester’s hand axe strapped to his belt on one side, Nott’s dagger on the other, Caduceus’s shield on one arm and Caleb’s glove of blasting on his hand. He’s never carried so many weapons in his life, and while he knows logically that they should weigh him down at least slightly, he feels lighter than he has in months.

Beau hadn’t given him a weapon, but she had shoulder bumped him on their way out of the Kiln and had given him a twist of a smile when he’d looked at her.

“Hey. I was joking about the drugs and all—“ She had rubbed at the back of her neck, as if embarrassed. “I’m just sorry I don’t have any cool weapons or shit to give you.”

He had come up with a reply on the quick, even though he’d had so much on his mind. “Your coolest weapons are right there at the end of your wrists, of course you can’t give them to me. But, uhh— maybe you could teach me how to throw a punch right? Last time I tried it I felt like I nearly broke my hand.”

Beau’s grin had threatened to overtake her face before she had reigned it back in. “Yeah. Yeah, I could totally do that. When we stop for the night?”

“I look forward to it,” he had said to her, and meant it.

A part of him feels hollow, but not necessarily in a bad way. It’s more like something rotting inside him had been taken out and nothing had filled the void left behind, at least, not yet. His chest aches slightly and he rubs at it absent-mindedly. There’s a ridge of a scar there despite Caduceus’s healing, but Fjord doesn’t mind it. Some things, important things, _should_ leave evidence behind.

“Fjord?” Jester’s voice breaks into his thoughts. “Are you feeling okay?”

Fjord gives her a smile, feeling the tops of his tusks pressing into his lips as he does so, and is surprised to find that he doesn’t feel the urge to hide his mouth behind his hand as he had done when he was small. “I’m fine, Jester,” he says, and it’s not a lie.

“Good!” Her smile is as bright as sunlight on snow as she slows her pace to walk next to him. “Want to know a secret?”

“I sure do,” he says, and she leans close to his ear.

“I love all your voices, but this one is my favorite,” she breathes into his ear.

He chuckles then, and not just because Jester’s breath tickles. “I’m going to be honest with you, I’m still trying to get used to it.”

“You will,” Jester says confidently.

The whole group seems to make a point of checking on him during the day, Beau and Jester aren’t the last. Nott just gives him a glance and a nod when he catches her looking at him. Caleb drifts over and makes some comment about the weather, which leads to Fjord’s admission that he had never even seen snow until he had come up to the Empire. To his surprise, Caleb tells him about winters in Blumenthal when he had been a boy, about snowball fights with the village children and sneaking out at night to watch the snow fall. Maybe it’s all those weird herbs that Calianna had sent him, but Fjord doesn’t sneeze even once, even though Frumpkin is curled around Caleb’s neck like a scarf the whole time.

As for Caduceus, well, Fjord can feel Caduceus’s attention on him all day, like a quilt wrapped around his shoulders, warm but not smothering. He doesn’t say anything at dinner when he hands Fjord a mug of tea, the firbolg’s hand gently brushing his for a few seconds longer than usual. Fjord doesn’t know _why_ he notices that, or why it makes him feel as warm as the fire does.

Beau _does_ teach him a few things after dinner, including exercises to strengthen his arm muscles.

“You’ll never be strong enough to take _me_ on,” Nott says with a roll of her eyes. “Even _with_ her help.”

And Fjord laughs, because he knows Nott doesn’t mean it, and she knows that he knows and just keeps smiling when he flips her off. Everything about it feels so _normal_ , even after everything that’s happened, and that’s comforting in and of itself. When he lays down for the night, it’s with a smile on his face.

Except Fjord can’t seem to fall asleep.

He’s tired, the events of the night before and a day of walking have seen to that, but his mind is still active, part of him still mentally tensed as if waiting for a blow. Maybe he’s afraid of what dreams he’ll have when he falls asleep, or maybe it’s something else, but try as he might he finds no comfort behind his closed eyes. After what seems like an eternity, he sighs and sits up. It only takes him a moment to put on his boots, and then he’s stepping over his sleeping friends, out past the edge of Caleb’s magic.

The wind has died down but the cold still hits Fjord like a physical thing as he wades out into the snow. He realizes belatedly that his coat is still inside, next to his bedroll. He can picture it, the dark blue cloth cut in the Xhorhasian style. He had bought a coat for cold weather back in Zadash as well, what seems like an age ago, also in dark blue.

Dark blue had been Vandren’s favorite color. Fjord wonders what his own favorite color is.

He should go back inside for his coat, he knows, or just plain go back inside. Instead he walks for another few feet and then stays where he is, shivering, staring up at the stars, their silver brilliance against the dark sky. After a moment he realize he’s waiting for them to wink out, like they had in his dream the night before. They shine on instead, beautiful and defiant.

There’s the sound of someone walking in the snow behind him and Fjord’s breath hitches as he turns around, his hand instinctually moving in the gesture that will summon his falchion. He has a moment of panic when it doesn’t appear, followed by relief so strong that it actually makes his knees weak. If his falchion had actually appeared he probably would have screamed. Instead he laughs because of the irony of it all. Weeks ago he had been terrified when his powers had left him, and now he’s scared that they’ll come _back._

“Fjord?” Caduceus is standing mere feet away, bundled in his dark gray coat, the staff on his crystal glowing dimly, his eyes full of concern, and Fjord realizes suddenly what he’s been waiting for all day. For so long he’s worried about what would happen if he lost his powers, if the group found out, how they would look at him with pity in their eyes. He’s imagined it so many times that he’s been waiting for it to happen still, and it _hasn’t_ , and his brain doesn’t know what to do with itself now.

“I’m sorry,” Fjord says, still laughing a little. “You just scared me, that’s all.” Fjord knows Caduceus who smiles when he’s scared, will understand. He takes a step forward, stumbling for a second in the snow, and isn’t at all surprised when he feels Caduceus’s hands steadying him, keeping him from falling.

“Easy now,” Caduceus says softly. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Fjord admits, and then, because it’s the truth. “My chest still aches, some. Maybe it’s just all in my head—“

Caduceus doesn’t hesitate, just plants his staff in the snow and places a hand on Fjord’s chest. Fjord feels warm all over, and that’s before the familiar rush of healing magic pours through him. The ache fades, but Fjord still isn’t sure if it had even been real in the first place.

“Better?” Caduceus doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Much,” Fjord replies. “Thank you.”

“You’re not wearing a coat,” Caduceus responds with the slightest of frowns, as if he’s just noticed.

“It—doesn’t fit right,” Fjord says in way of explanation. “I know I should go back in, but—I just wanted to be outside for a bit.”

“Do you want to be alone? I could lend you—“ Caduceus pulls his hand away and starts unbuttoning his coat.

“No, wait! I don’t— stay, please,” the words come out in a rush. “And I’ll be fine, you don’t have to—“

Caduceus just keeps undoing buttons. “Being out in nature is one thing. Hypothermia is quite another. Turn around.”

Fjord does, mildly confused but ultimately trusting, and is surprised when Caduceus steps close behind him, pulls the front of the coat around Fjord, and starts re-buttoning it with Fjord inside, stopping just short of Fjord’s neck. Within a moment Fjord is as warm as anyone could wish, his back snug against Caduceus’s front, the rest of him surrounded by the coat. “How’s that? Now we can both be warm.”

“I uh— thank you.” Fjord thinks about the heat of the magma, the hiss of steam as his blood had hit the molten rock. The heat he’s feeling now is different. Much different.

“You’re welcome.” Caduceus’s voice is a pleasant rumble against Fjord’s back.

Fjord looks up at the night sky once more, at the stars, as if to make sure they were still there. “You asked me last night how I got the wound in my chest,” he says after a long moment. “I never actually answered you.”

Fjord feels Caduceus shrug. “I wasn’t going to press the issue,” he says. “And there were more important things to talk about just then. But if you want to tell me now, I’ll gladly listen.”

Fjord remembers the look on Caduceus’s face when he had woken the cleric up, sleepy affability transforming to alert concern in an instant. “I was—trying to bluff him.” No need to say who _him_ was. “I pressed the sword to my chest and told him that he needed me more than I needed him. I told him to give me my powers back. And he didn’t. So I—“ He would mime pressing the sword into his chest if his movement wasn’t restricted by Caduceus’s coat. Not that he minds the restriction. The coat is as good as a hug. “I pressed hard enough to draw blood. And he didn’t do anything. So I pressed harder, and when nothing happened I pressed even harder. And _still_ he didn’t do anything, even when I held the sword over the magma. I think that’s when I knew that there was only two ways that it all could end. I could submit. Or I could let go.”

Fjord finds himself chuckling, a shuddering sound almost like a sob. “I let go of _everything_ ,” he says, and his tone is one of amazement. “I didn’t know what would happen when I threw the sword from me. I didn’t know what would happen when I let the others hear my real voice, when I told them I didn’t have powers anymore. I didn’t know and I did it _anyway_.”

Caduceus’s arms come up, wrapping around both Fjord and himself. The embrace is welcoming. Comforting. Grounding.

“That’s what bravery is,” Caduceus says softly. “That’s what faith is.” He hums in a thoughtful way. “Did you know that winter is the Raven Queen’s season?”

Fjord blinks in surprise at the sudden change in topic. “No, I didn’t.” Religion wasn’t something he was well versed in, except for the bits he had picked up when he had been a sailor, and what he had learned while traveling with the Nein.

“It’s true. It’s said that it was a gift from the Wildmother to the goddess shortly after her ascension. She thought it fitting that the goddess of death have dominion over a season that was about dormancy and rest, a time when animals sleep and plants return to the earth, when the world becomes as quiet as snowfall. But the Wildmother is still present in all the gifts she gives. Even in winter, snowdrops bloom, the herald of the spring that is to come. I think—“ and here Caduceus pauses for a moment, just a moment, before continuing on. “I think a part of you has been under the snow for a long time. But I feel like spring is coming for you now. I just wanted you to know, I can’t wait to see what you blossom into.”

 _Potential_ , Fjord thinks, and for the first time in a long time the word does not cause him to shiver. This is the opposite of dreams of drowning, of cold, dark water, of yellow eyes. This is snow and starlight, warm arms around him instead of scales, comforting instead of crushing.

The stars Fjord had been staring at start to blur, and for a moment he’s afraid that he’s been asleep this whole time, that this has all been a dream that’s now turning into nightmare. Then he feels the chill of tears sliding down his cheeks and he understands. He had almost cried during breakfast that morning, surrounded by the support of his friends, but he had managed to hold back those tears then. At the orphanage, Fjord had learned that crying only got you laughed at more, teased more, hit more, so he had learned not to cry, at least not where others could see. And Vandren had never cried in front of the crew, not even at times of great loss. But he’s so _tired_ of hiding his feelings, and the last of his masks had fallen into the magma with his sword.

The tears come more quickly, a dam broken, a flood of emotions pouring down his face, his breath hitching as he tries not to sob out loud, not wanting to break the peaceful stillness of the winter night.

“It’s all right,” Caduceus tells him, his voice as soft as snowfall. “It’s all right.”

Fjord lets himself cry, lets himself _feel_ , and his tears are of loss and sorrow, but also of joy, the joy of being seen, being _found_ , of not being rejected of these people who he thinks of as friends, as crew, and Wildmother help him as _family._ At some point he manages to turn himself around, to lay his head against Caduceus’s chest, wrapping his arms around the firbolg as if he was the only thing keeping him from being swept away by the tide of his emotions, and he feels Caduceus bending over him, sheltering him in his arms, all the while telling him that it’s all right, everything is all right.

It could be hours or minutes when Fjord finally stops crying, too exhausted to move, his eyes closed and already halfway to dreams. He’s aware of movement, an instant of cold, the sensation of being lifted, of being carried. He remembers last night, when he had been shaking from reaction and adrenaline and Caduceus had carried him to someplace quieter where they could talk without waking the others.

“Sorry,” Fjord says, or tries to say, or dreams of saying, though he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for.

“I’ve got you,” he hears Caduceus say. Then he’s warm, and Caduceus is laying him down, and there’s a brush of lips, soft against his forehead. “Rest.”

 _Stay_ , Fjord thinks, or maybe he says it out loud, because there are arms around him again, warmth surrounding him.

“ _I’m not going anywhere._ ” It’s Caduceus’s voice, but there’s another voice underneath it, one that’s the wind through sea-grass and the gentle slide of water against sand. “ _Rest.”_

Surrounded and watched over by those who love him, Fjord sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> I *seriously* thought Travis/Fjord was going to start crying during breakfast when everyone started giving him weapons and reassurances. I mean, *I* know I was having all the emotions.
> 
> I'm angel-ascending on Tumblr and angel_in_ink on Twitter if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


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